Can't Go Back
by shan21
Summary: Post-A Benihana Christmas fic! Remember when Jim and Pam convinced Dwight that a CIA helicopter would pick him up on the roof? Well, neither of them could resist showing up that night to see the prank to it's conclusion.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Firstly, I do not own anything relating to the Office. I'm writing this for my own entertainment and the entertainment of anyone who happens upon it (that's you!)

Secondly, thanks to SixFlightsUp and uncgirl for beings awesome betas.

Thirdly, you know how I usually update super fast? Well, that's because the fics are all written, start to finish, before I post any of it. Not in this case though. I only have three chapters written so far, and I'm working on a Pirates of the Caribbean story that is turning out to be a lot easier to update than this one. So the first three chapters will come fast, and then you're in for a longer wait than usual. But no worries, it'll come.

Fourthly, this is a post-A Benihana Christmas story. As such, let's briefly review what was going on then: Karen and Pam have just finally become friends (having formed and then dissolved the Committee to Plan Parties together). Jim just talked to Michael about rebounds. Karen does not yet know that Jim had "a thing" for Pam or that they kissed.

All set? Back in the angsty mindset? Good! Ready, set, go!

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

**Chapter 1: The Setup**

He barely notices the sound of Angela's voice as she continues to sing that god-awful rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy." He can't pull his eyes from the sight of Pam standing in the break room with Roy. She actually gave him a hug.

A_ hug_.

_What exactly did he give her for Christmas that warranted a hug? And more importantly, just what is Roy doing giving Christmas gifts to his ex-fiancée anyways? And did Pam get anything for Roy?_

He is jolted from his inner monologue by Karen's voice.

"Hey," she greets him, nudging him gently so that he'll move over a bit on the desk he is leaning against. Soon she's leaning there next to him and she follows his line of sight to see what he was looking at.

"Oh, good! They're talking!" she exclaims.

_Wait a minute. Something does not compute here._

"What? Who?" Jim asks dumbly, praying that Karen was actually talking about Phyllis and Toby.

"Pam was flirting with that guy earlier today. I told her she should date him," Karen says proudly.

"What did she say?" Jim asks, trying to keep the urgency out of his tone.

"She said maybe. I mean, from what little I know about Pam, she doesn't seem like the type to take chances," Karen says.

Jim holds back a bitter laugh.

"So I just figured that she'd just let this guy slip by, but apparently not," Karen continues.

He grunts noncommittally, and Karen seems to take that as response enough.

Jim decides that he is definitely going to accept Pam's Christmas gift. It has nothing to do with what he just saw in the break room, he assures himself. He had basically decided at Benihana that he was going to do it. He can't pass up the opportunity to mess with Dwight. Yes, that's it.

So as everybody leaves for the day, he hangs around Pam's desk. She looks so happy when he fills her in on the plan that he feels almost like it's last year and things are back to normal.

Together they send Dwight a covert message to wait on the roof of the building at 7:13 sharp, at which time a chopper will take him to Langley for emergency training and an ice cream social with the other agents. Pam has the stroke of genius to include that Dwight should bring with him anything that he would need to survive in the wild for six weeks.

He actually snorts when she suggests this addition, but after they share a laugh about it he feels sort of deflated. It kind of hurts because they used to do this all the time and it's just been _so long_. He pushes the feeling away and they send the message before going their separate ways.

At 7:15 Jim rolls into the Dunder-Mifflin parking lot with his headlights off. He doesn't want Dwight to catch sight of him and ruin the whole setup, after all. He had to be here to see it with his own eyes. What good is a prank if you can't enjoy the fruits of your labor? He thinks about gaydar and sending faxes from the future, and how he had to fight the urge to drive the two and a half hours to Scranton then.

He puts the car in park and is about to scan the roof for Dwight when he's startled by tapping at his window.

He jumps so forcefully that he thinks for a second he might get a bruise from the seatbelt that he has yet to take off. Whipping his head to the side he sees Pam at his window. She looks like she is trying desperately not to laugh.

"Pam! Were you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" he asks after he hits the button to roll his window down.

"I can't believe you showed up too! He's up there!" she says excitedly, motioning toward the roof.

Indeed he is. Jim catches the movement of a figure on the roof, and he sees an enormous rucksack thrown over the person's shoulder.

Another noise startles him and he realizes that it's Pam opening his passenger side door. She slides wordlessly into the seat next to him and closes the door behind her.

"How long have you been here?" he asks her.

"Since 7:00," she whispers, although there isn't really any point in whispering since Dwight can't hear them in the car.

He just smiles and shakes his head.

"Are you judging me? Because I got to see him show up with his ginormous bag of survival supplies and lug it all up to the roof. So… suck it," she says defiantly.

"No, it's just… we both couldn't stand the thought of _not_ seeing the payoff," Jim explains, still smiling.

Pam smiles back.

"Yeah, well… enjoy your present, Jim," she says sweetly.

They both just watch Dwight amble around on the roof for a minute before Pam speaks again.

"So, Halpert… where's _my_ present?" she asks.

Jim feels a sudden twisting in his gut, and he stutters for some sort of an excuse.

"Uh. I—"

Pam's smile disappears and all of a sudden she has those concerned eyes and that apologetic frown.

"Oh, no. I was just…"

"Kidding," she finishes, at the same time that he says, "I'm a jerk."

They laugh nervously and Pam looks up at him with another adorable smirk.

"You're not a jerk," she admonishes.

"I kind of am," he replies.

"How?" she asks.

He immediately thinks of Karen and then of his talk with Michael about rebounds. He thinks about how he blew Pam off when she tried to give him his present, and when she asked him out for coffee a few weeks ago, and how he's brushed her off a dozen other times in the past few weeks. But instead of saying any of that, he just smiles and shakes his head again, avoiding her question altogether.

"So, what did Roy get you?" he asks, partly because he's been dying to know and partly because he wants to change the subject.

"Oh. Um, a book," she replies. She seems surprised that he knows Roy got her anything.

"Nice," he says, because he has to say something.

"On figure drawing," she adds awkwardly.

He doesn't really have anything else to say so he just sort of nods and she nods back and they sit in silence for a moment, watching Dwight continue to move around on the roof. Again it is Pam who breaks the silence.

"Karen is great."

"Yeah. You guys really seemed to hit it off today," he says conversationally.

She smiles, and he can tell that she genuinely had fun with Karen today.

"Yeah," she says.

Then a thought occurs to him, and he can't help the question that escapes his lips.

"Whose idea was it to merge the parties?"

"What?" she asks, confused about why he would be asking that, he guesses.

"It was nice. For Angela's sake, I mean. Whose idea was it?"

He knows the answer. Only Pam would actually feel bad for _Angela_.

"That was a joint decision made by the now disbanded Committee to Plan Parties," Pam replies diplomatically.

Jim grins and lets out a laugh that sounds sort of like a sigh.

"It was you though, wasn't it? It was your idea," he prods.

She doesn't reply, but looks at him curiously, like she still can't figure out why he wants to know.

"You're so _nice_, Pam," Jim says before he realizes how dumb it sounds.

Pam laughs and rolls her eyes.

"Karen's nice too," she says dismissively.

"Yeah," he replies automatically, because sure Karen is nice, but she's not_ Pam nice_.

"How long are we going to make him wait?" Pam asks, and Jim redirects his attention to the roof, where Dwight has now begun to pace. He smiles again. _So nice._

"It_ is_ pretty cold out there, isn't it?" he concedes.

Pulling out Karen's phone from his coat pocket, he starts to type a text message.

"What are you texting?" Pam asks. She sounds like a little kid and she tries to peek over at the screen. "And _fancy phone_!" she adds.

"It's Karen's Blackberry. Dwight knows my number. Unfortunately," Jim explains.

"And apparently you know his," Pam points out. "By heart I'm guessing, since I assume Karen doesn't have Dwight's number in her contact list."

He doesn't respond, because he has no way to defend himself from that. It's true. He knows Dwight's number by heart, just like he knows Dwight's middle name. _So sad_.

"Oh, Jim. That is so sweet," Pam says mockingly, clasping her hands and bringing them her chest dramatically.

"Shut up," he grunts.

"I was worried that there was some sort of rift between the two of you since you aren't sitting next to him anymore, but I can see that you still care," she continues in a sugary tone.

"_You_ are hilarious," he mutters.

"Thank you. What did you type?" she asks, craning her neck to see.

He lets her take the phone, and he feels a physical shock when her fingertips brush against his palms. Some insane part of him wants to snap his hand closed over hers, and he almost does, but he comes to his senses at the last moment. Their eyes lock for a split second, and he lets himself believe that she's a little shaken by the contact too. She quickly averts her eyes when she inhales, he can swear he hears her breath hitch.

The moment passes and she makes a show of clearing her throat before she reads the message aloud.

"''You have been compromised. Abort mission.' Excellent," she says. Then it looks like a little light bulb went off over her head, because she gets a grin and types something else out before handing the Blackberry back to Jim. He finds himself feeling disappointed that she drops the phone into his hands so that there is no chance of accidental contact.

"'Destroy phone?'" he reads incredulously.

"I'm not _that_ nice," Pam says. She is trying, and failing, to hold back a smirk.

"Apparently," he replies, but he's grinning back at her.

He hits send, and they wait with baited breath to see what happens. They watch as the figure on the roof checks his phone. Pam giggles, and Jim shushes her playfully. Then the figure winds up and chucks a small object clear into the next parking lot and Pam lets out something that is halfway between a laugh and a yelp.

Jim can't help himself from gaping openly. This has turned out better than he could have hoped. He joins Pam in giddy laughter, but he's more focused on her than he is on Dwight. He loves to watch her laugh. Her entire face changes. At work when nothing is going on she can look sort of world-weary, but say something that makes her smile and she turns into the most beautiful…

_Stop it_, he scolds himself. _You have a girlfriend. What are you even doing here, sitting in a car with Pam when Karen is at her apartment thinking that you're actually a decent boyfriend? Jerk._

"Oh my god," Pam whispers suddenly.

"What?" Jim asks. He has the ridiculous thought that maybe she sensed what he was just thinking.

"He's going to see us!" she exclaims.

Jim looks back at the roof and realizes that Dwight is no longer there. He's on his way back to the parking lot. He turns back to Pam with wide eyes, and sees her reaching for the door.

"I have to go!" she squeaks, ready to make a mad dash for her own car.

Without thinking, Jim lunges over the center console. He throws his right hand on the back of Pam's seat for support, and his other hand closes over her wrist.

She freezes, and looks at him in complete bewilderment, but he doesn't back away. He stares right back into her startled eyes and tries to ignore the fact that she is so close that her breath is stirring the hair on his forehead.

"Pam, there's no time," he says urgently. He let's go of her hand and leans back in his seat, feeling a bit breathless. "We've got to go. Now."

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

End Notes: Nine out of ten dentists recommend reviewing this chapter. Apparently it prevents tartar buildup. I wouldn't ask any questions. Trust the experts. Plus, reviewing is easier than flossing.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hope you like this one. I got to write Dwight, which is just about my most favorite thing in the world.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

**Chapter 2: The Chase**

"Pam, there's no time," he says urgently. He let's go of her hand and leans back in his seat, feeling a bit breathless. "We've got to go. Now."

Without another word, he twists the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. It takes Pam a second to snap out of her daze.

"But my car!" she says, pointing at her Yaris.

"You'll never get back to your car _and_ pull out before Dwight comes out that front door," Jim says reasonably, flipping on his headlights and shifting the car into gear.

"But he'll see my car in the parking lot and he'll know I was here!" Pam protests, but she's fastening her seatbelt as she speaks.

"Maybe. But that's a chance we'll have to take," Jim says, locking eyes with her once more before he jams on the gas pedal.

The car makes that burning rubber noise that all cars make in action movies, and Jim can't help the rush of adrenaline it gives him. He peeks in the rear view mirror just in time to see Dwight emerge from the building.

"Wow. I feel like a badass," he admits, feeling goofy but not really caring. This is _Pam_ with him. Why should he feel embarrassed?

"Because your tires squealed?" Pam asks.

"Yeah!" he says, perfectly aware that he sounds like a teenage boy.

"_Such_ a dork," Pam teases him.

He looks over at her briefly and thinks again about how much he has missed this. They drive for a minute in silence, but when they're stopped at a red light, Pam speaks.

"So Thelma, where are we going?" she asks.

"You couldn't have come up with a cooler driving duo than Thelma and Louise?" Jim says with mock disgust.

"Where are we going… Starsky?" she tries.

Jim makes a show of contemplating this new option, bringing his hand up to stroke an imaginary beard.

"Worse," he says decisively.

He's just stalling, really, because it's clear that they could just loop back around to the parking lot. Dwight is probably gone by now. But Pam hasn't suggested this and he doesn't want to either, despite the fact that he knows he should.

_Karen. Karen. Karen._ He tries to repeat this mantra in his head, but it doesn't work at all, not with Pam looking at him expectantly from his passenger seat.

"We could go to Poor Richards," he says finally.

Pam nods approvingly.

"For a victory drink," she says.

"I'll even buy since I'm a jerk and didn't get you a present," Jim offers.

"Oooh, so you're getting me booze for Christmas? I'm sorry, are you confusing me with Meredith?" Pam asks sarcastically. She is trying to look offended, but all he can think is, _God, she looks adorable._

"Never," he says. They share a look and she must know that he's thinking that he could never confuse her with anyone, because she's _Pam_. It feels a little too real, a little too intense so Jim does what he does best. He makes a joke.

"If I confuse you with anyone, it's always Creed," he says.

The mood is broken and she snorts with laughter.

"I get that a lot," she replies.

He parks outside Poor Richards and he can't resist guiding her into the pub with his hand hovering over her lower back, just barely touching her. They sit at a table close to the bar and decide to split some fries since Pam only had a salad for dinner and Jim can always go for fries.

"I'll order the fries and get our drinks," he says, getting up from the table. "What do you want? Wait, let me guess..." He pauses for effect. "Something really girly and fruity."

He thinks of second drinks and spontaneous kisses before he can stop himself.

"Rum and coke, thank you very much," Pam says haughtily, arching her eyebrow in an Angela-esque way.

"Wow, Pam. A grown up drink," he replies.

He turns to walk over to the bar, when Pam's voice stops him.

"Oh, but uh, make the rum the coconut flavored stuff," she adds.

He turns back to her and she's trying to hide her smile.

"And _there_ it is," Jim says in his best 'I told you so' tone.

Pam just sticks out her tongue at him and Jim has to try hard to refocus his thoughts on Karen and how he loves that she drinks plain vodka martinis and other non-girly drinks.

They sip their drinks and Pam admits that she already feels guilty about Dwight's phone. Jim gapes at her when tells him she'll probably buy him a replacement.

"Just a cheap one!" she insists. "Maybe I'll just buy a used one on Amazon. I mean, his girlfriend is going to want to be able to call him."

Jim rolls his eyes.

"Dwight does _not_ have a girlfriend," he says.

"Oh, he _does_," Pam says with conviction.

Jim reels back a bit at this.

"Wait a minute. Pam, do you know the identity of Dwight's mystery girlfriend? Are you telling me that she's not just a figment of Dwight's imagination?" Jim asks incredulously.

"She is definitely _not_ imaginary," Pam says. "But as for her identity… _That_ is classified information."

Jim squints, trying to read her.

"Come _on_, Beesly. You have to tell me," Jim pleads.

"No way. Subject change," she replies resolutely.

Jim reluctantly moves on and tells Pam about Michael and how he had to mark his girlfriend's arm to tell her apart from the other Benihana waitress and Pam is appropriately amused.

Jim reaches for his beer to take another swig, when suddenly Pam's hand is covering his. His heart immediately starts working double time, and his eyes shoot up to meet hers with a questioning stare. _What is she doing?_

"Dwight!" she whispers sharply.

His eyebrows shoot upwards, but he quickly recovers.

"No, Pam," he says slowly, as thought he is speaking to a small child. "It's _Jim_. Jiiiim."

She glares at him, clearly not buying his confusion.

"He's coming over to the bar," she says, looking over his shoulder.

He starts to turn his head, and she grips his hand harder. "Don't turn around! Just keep looking this way."

Pam lifts her menu so that it blocks her entire face, but she still has one hand on Jim's, which is… well, he doesn't know what to think of that. It's possible that she just forgot to remove it.

"Fuzzy navel on the rocks," says a familiar voice, and Jim hears Pam snort from behind her menu.

He squeezes her hand briefly as a substitute for that, 'Oh my god, did you just hear that?!' expression that they have perfected. She squeezes back.

Jim hears a glass clink loudly on the bar and Dwight's voice calls out, "Give me another! You know what, just bring me the bottle!" When the bartender starts to explain that he doesn't have a giant bottle of pre-mixed fuzzy navels, Pam completely loses it.

At first he sees her shoulders shake. Soon he hears breathy little giggles emerge from behind the menu. Finally, the menu slides from her hand altogether and she brings both hands up to her face, covering her mouth desperately.

Jim would be more amused if he wasn't slightly disappointed that she let go of his hand.

"Pam!" Dwight calls out.

Jim whispers, 'Busted!' and she tries to compose herself.

"Dwight," she says, nodding at him.

Jim turns around at this point because the jig is up, really.

"Hi Dwight," he says casually.

"Jim!" Dwight sputters, getting to his feet and walking toward their table.

"What brings you here, Dwight?" Pam asks civilly.

"That information is privileged," Dwight says defensively.

Jim turns back to Pam to give her one of his looks. When he turns back to the bar, Dwight looks like something has just occurred to him.

"Pam, I saw your car in the Dunder-Mifflin parking lot. What were you doing there, and what are you doing here now?" he demands.

"I was… I—" Pam stutters, looking desperately at Jim.

"Do you or do you not own a blue Toyota Yaris hatchback?" Dwight presses, his voice getting louder.

Pam opens her mouth but no sound comes out, so Jim takes his cue.

"It's okay, Pam," Jim says, placing his hand over hers again. Just part of the act, he assures himself. "Dwight, Pam was having a hard time. Personally. She called me up, we met at work, and I drove her here so that we could talk."

Dwight pauses to look Pam over like he's sizing her up. Pam helps out by nodding sadly and gripping Jim's hand a little tighter.

"What's wrong with her?" Dwight demands.

"_That_ is private," Jim shoots back.

"I am a licensed crisis counselor, Jim," Dwight sneers.

"Interesting. Can I see your license?" Jim asks.

Dwight looks momentarily flustered.

"I… don't have it on me," he recovers.

Pam squints at him, and then addresses Jim.

"I think impersonating a licensed crisis counselor is a felony," she says conversationally. _Perfect_, Jim thinks.

"No it's not," Dwight says quickly, but he sounds nervous.

"He's right Pam. It's a misdemeanor," Jim says.

"Ohhhh, right," Pam says, tilting her head back as if remembering this fact.

He loves this. They're back to normal. A team. She sets it up for him and he hits it out of the park. They just work so well together.

"Okay, I couldn't pass the test, but that's only because it is a flawed exam. Too much emphasis on listening and comfort," Dwight says with obvious disgust. "My Uncle Wilhelm used to just grab us by the shoulders and scream as loudly as he could directly in our faces. It's called scream therapy, and it works. My cousin Greta never wet the bed again."

"I'm pretty sure that in scream therapy, the person who needs the therapy does the screaming, not the—" Jim starts.

"Well that shows how much you know, Jim! Idiot," Dwight interrupts.

"Dwight, it's nothing personal," Pam says. "It's just that Jim is my best friend and you are… Dwight," she says, trailing off into a near whisper toward the end of her sentence.

"False," Dwight balks.

"Oh, so you not only lied about having your counseling license, but now you're telling us your real name isn't even Dwight?" Jim says, shaking his head in disapproval.

"No! Simpleton," Dwight snaps. "Pam, Jim is not your best friend. You hardly even talk."

It's absolutely awful, the silence that ensues.

Jim feels as though the entire bar has ceased speaking just to watch them. He feels Pam's hand slip out of his and his stomach sinks. Count on Dwight to say the exact wrong thing.

"All the same, I'd rather not undergo scream therapy. Thank you for your concern," she says quietly, not looking at either of them.

"Suit yourself. But when you realize that Jim is an incompetent buffoon, I will be here with my vocal cords primed and ready," Dwight retorts before moving back into his seat at the bar.

The waitress comes over with their fries and Pam picks idly at one of them before sighing deeply.

"I'm really not hungry. Maybe we should just go," she says.

Jim feels his heart leap into his throat. Today shouldn't end this way. Things were so great. Almost like they were before.

"No wait. You haven't even finished your drink," Jim says desperately, gesturing at her half-empty Malibu and coke.

"Yeah, well if I finish it then I'll just have to wait longer before I can drive home," she replies reasonably.

Jim doesn't know why he is so panicked all of a sudden. He just knows that tonight something important is going to happen.

"Good. It'll give us time to talk," he says.

There is a brief pause and she just looks at him. She wants to know what they're going to talk about, he can tell. She's nervous and upset and tugging at her necklace like she does whenever she's feeling that way.

"Pam, please," he says.

She takes another sip of her drink, which he thinks is a good sign. He's literally holding his breath when she finally looks at him and speaks.

"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

End Notes: Reviews cause me to spontaneously burst into joyful song. What song? You'll never know unless you review!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm working on chapter four right now. It currently hates me, but don't worry. Every success I've ever had in my job (or with the men folk) has come from my ability to slowly and painfully wear things down.

Also, no offense to anyone majoring in musical theater. You'll see…

Huuuuuge amounts of thanks go to my betas SixFlightsUp, WildBerryJam, and especially to uncgirl who basically helped me totally rework this chapter… twice.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When he says, "Pam, please" and looks at her with that half-scared, half-pleading expression, she thinks, _is this really happening? _

Dwight was right. They aren't best friends anymore. Can they actually have a relationship like that again?

When he first came back to Scranton she thought that they were actually going to get this right. She was ready, _finally_. But then he wasn't the Jim she knew at all. He was some strange person who looked like Jim but didn't roll up his shirtsleeves, or eat ham and cheese every day, or make her smile by just… existing.

And then there's Karen, who is actually pretty awesome (as evidenced by their party planning adventure today). And that just makes things so much worse. Why couldn't she be a terrible person?

But Old Jim came back tonight, finally, and he's asking her to stay and talk. She twists the charm on her necklace sideways and presses hard so that its edges make deep impressions on her fingertips.

What does he want to talk about? She takes a sip of her drink and tries to imagine all of the possible topics.

It only takes her a few seconds to realize that it doesn't really matter what he wants to talk about. He could tell her that he wants to discuss the composition of dryer lint, and she would stay. She has missed this so much. She's missed _him_ so much.

So she says, "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

The ball is in his court, and she waits nervously for him to reply. He looks shocked and relieved that she has agreed to stay at all. He stumbles over his words for a second before he responds, which Pam would normally find adorable, but she's too anxious to hear what he's going to say.

"I, uh… Well… um, Dwight was right," he says finally. "Things aren't… things aren't like they were. We don't talk. Really. Anymore."

Pam inhales. She's just barely fighting back the urge to say, 'And whose fault is that?' because after all, she isn't the one who has been doing the avoiding.

"And, I don't know. I guess, I just… let's talk. What's going on with you? Like, in your life," he asks.

She frowns, trying to come up with an appropriate response. She could say, 'Well, I'm trying to be this strong, independent person, but it's really hard when the one person who means the most to me has moved on.'

But instead she says, "I bought a new sofa."

_Idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Real brave, Pam. Your SOFA? That's what you want to tell him about? Really?_

"Nice. What color is it?" Jim asks conversationally. She manages not to wince, but it's hard. This is so pathetic; this supposed talk that they're having.

"Beige," she says, trying to somehow make that word sound interesting.

"Very bold," Jim replies, smiling in this gently teasing way that makes her smile back a little bit.

"Well, the walls are leopard print so, you know… I didn't want to go overboard."

"Understandable," he says, giving her an approving nod.

She takes another sip of her drink, and wills him to make the next comment, but he remains silent. He is waiting patiently for her to continue.

"Um, I'm taking some art classes," she says, forcing herself to sound amiable and calm.

"That's great, Pam," he replies, his face lighting up with a genuine grin.

She can't take this anymore. When was it ever this hard to just talk to each other? If they're going to talk, then they should really_talk_.

"Yeah. _Great_," she says softly, without a hint of enthusiasm.

He's peering at her with a confused, concerned look, but she doesn't hold his gaze, focusing instead on the place of fries that separates them.

At this moment, Pam wishes that Dwight never said anything, because at least that way they could have ended the evening on a high note. It would have been nice to have one night to pretend that things were like they were before.

But then she's so frustrated, because why can't things be the way they were? So Jim is dating someone (_someone else_, she thinks). Why should that keep them from being friends like before? She was engaged to Roy before and they were friends.

"So, can I ask you something?" she says to Jim, although it looks more like she's asking the French fries.

"Sure," she hears him reply.

She picks up a fry and rotates it slowly between her fingers before taking him up on the invitation.

"Is this a one time thing?"

"What?" he asks.

She risks a glance in his direction and sees a truly bewildered frown. She drops the fry and looks up at him in earnest.

"I just…" She sighs and shakes her head, trying to regroup. _Be strong, Pam. Just ask. _

"There have been some moments…" she continues. "Since you came back… when it feels almost like before. Like the thing with getting Andy to ask me out, and whatever." She shakes her head again and continues. "I don't know. It's just that in those moments it's like last year, but then the next day it's like it never happened. It's back to being…"

Her voice trails off again and she looks down at her hands.

"Back to being what?" he asks softly.

"_Not great,_" she says, meeting his eyes again. She takes a deep breath and continues, louder. "So, I guess, just… are we going to come back after Christmas and pretend like this whole thing never happened? Just… I don't see why it has to be like this. Why it can't be like before?"

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

_Like before?_ He just feels a surge of frustration shoot through his body and he can't articulate exactly why at first.

It's just that… what does _before_ mean to her? To him it means a lot of great things like this giddy, child-like happiness, but it also means longing and _pain_.

"You want it to be like before?" he asks.

She looks at him like she can't figure out why he would even ask such a question.

Of course, because for her _before_ was great, wasn't it? She wasn't the one going home every night having to imagine the person she loved with someone else.

"You_don't_?" she asks. Her eyebrows are tightly drawn in confusion. "I mean, why does it have to be weird between us?" she asks anxiously.

He frowns, because at that moment he realizes that maybe he can't be friends with Pam. He'll see her laugh and smile and be..._Pam,_ and he'll be right back where he was last year. Meanwhile, Pam will be just as unaffected as ever.

"Jim," she says, breaking him out of his train of thought.

"Hmm?" he says, eyebrows raised.

"You've noticed that it's weird, right?" she asks, tilting her head slightly to the side.

_If by weird you mean unbearably tense and awkward then… _

"Yeah." It comes out like an exhalation.

Then Pam gets this look of grim determination on her face.

"I don't like it," she says matter-of-factly.

Her eyes search his face, gauging his reaction, and his response comes automatically.

"I don't either," he says, and he means it.

Pam's whole demeanor changes. She let's out a breath that she was apparently holding. Her shoulders relax and that steely look in her eyes disappears. She smiles in relief and she is Old Pam again.

"Good," she says.

Only it's _really_ not good, not at all, because he knows that he can't be close to her like he was last year. Not without all the exact same complications, except this time with the added bonus of the fact that he has a girlfriend. Oh, and the fact that according to Karen, Pam is going to start dating Roy again. Awesome.

But she looks so _happy_ right now that he can't possibly disappoint her. He feels himself nodding helplessly back at her. He may need another beer.

"So now it's your turn to entertain me," she states, grinning broadly.

"Excuse me?" he asks, pausing with his beer halfway to his mouth.

"I regaled you with tales of my new couch. It's your turn," she replies, and her eyes are positively sparkling.

He decides right then and there that he'll just have to give friendship a shot, because it feels so good to be back to normal. He sees her eyes all lit up and forgets for a moment why he was ever avoiding her in the first place.

"Well, give me a minute, okay Beesly, because I'm still recovering from the excitement of couch talk," he says, with all the seriousness he can muster.

Pam nods solemnly.

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"You are forgiven," he says begrudgingly. He waits a few more seconds for good measure, and then says, "Okay. I am now ready."

She straightens up attentively, reminding Jim of Dwight before one of Michael's conference room lectures. Jim takes another swig of his beer, trying to forget that he just compared Pam to Dwight.

"All right," he starts. "So there was one time in Stamford when Andy _may_ have received a phone call from one of the American Idol producers."

"Oh?"

She's already smirking.

"Yes," Jim assures her. "And this producer _may_ have told Andy that even though he was five years over the age limit for contestants, that he and the other producers heard amazing things about the breakout star of a little a cappella group called Hear Comes Treble."

Pam smiles and shakes her head at him.

"So this producer, let's call him… Tim Galpert… says that the producers will help him forge a birth certificate and to make the lie believable, he will just need to make a few simple attempts to look younger," Jim says, maintaining a very neutral tone.

"Oh my god. He is _not_ that stupid," Pam says skeptically.

"Oh, I'm sorry, have you _met_ him?" Jim shoots back.

"He went to Cornell!" Pam cries.

"For musical theater!" Jim counters.

Pam laughs out loud and put up her hands as a show of surrender.

"What did he do?" she asks.

Jim shrugs innocently.

"He_may_ have gotten blond tips and grown a little goatee."

Pam shakes her head in disbelief, although she's still grinning.

"_And_gone to Hot Topic and had his eyebrow pierced," Jim adds.

Pam's eyes grow impossibly wide. She grips the table.

"NO!" she says incredulously.

"_And_ driven to Boston for American Idol tryouts," he says joyfully.

"Oh, Jim," Pam says, as though Jim has just given her a precious gift.

"Commence with the awe," he says cockily.

"Oh, I'm commencing," Pam assures him.

Jim can't help himself.

"That's what she said?" he says in a questioning tone, squinting slightly.

"I can see that Michael has already seeped back into your brain," she replies, rolling her eyes. "So, what happened with Andy? How did he find out that he wasn't going to get through?"

Before Jim can fill her in on the ending of the story, which involves the Boston police department and death threats to Simon Cowell via Blondie's hit song "One Way or Another," someone's cell phone starts to ring.

"I think it's you," Pam says.

He is about to tell her that it wasn't his ringtone when he remembers that he has Karen's BlackBerry.

_Karen. Yes. Your __girlfriend__, Jim. _

He looks at the caller ID. Karen's landline.

"Karen?" Pam prompts.

Jim nods, and answers the phone what he hopes is a perfectly natural sounding, "Hello."

He must sound normal, because she replies with a cheerful hello of her own. She asks him how the prank went, and he looks at Pam, who is studiously examining the fries again.

"Better than I expected," he tells her.

"Good!" Karen exclaims happily. There is a pause, and he knows that she expects him to fill her in on the specifics of the prank, but he doesn't.

"So… where are you now?" she asks.

"At a bar," he says, not elaborating.

"Alone?"

"No. Uh, Pam's here," he says. Then he starts panicking because he doesn't want her to get the wrong idea, even though the wrong idea might be right. He feels like a jerk, but he adds, "Dwight's here too" to cover his ass.

He didn't have to worry though, because when she replies she doesn't sound the least bit suspicious. Why should she? Karen has no idea that he and Pam were ever close, especially if she's judging solely by his behavior towards her in the past few weeks.

"Oh cool. Which one? I'll come join you," she says pleasantly.

Jim feels his stomach sink. He turns away from Pam and speaks quietly into the phone.

"Oh, um… I'm actually… I'm probably going to be leaving soon," he lies.

Pam and Karen are friends now. It would be fine if Karen came, so why is he lying? Why does he feel so guilty all of a sudden?

"Oh. Well, do you want to come over and watch a movie? Netflix just sent me Kate and Leopold. We can make fun of Hugh Jackman together," Karen jokes.

She's so great, and he hates himself when he replies.

"Um, I think I'm just going to go home."

"Such an old man!" she teases.

"I know. I'm super lame," he responds, and he means it.

"You're so lucky you have me to balance out the lame factor," she quips.

"I'll come over tomorrow," he says by way of apology.

"You better," she warns.

"Okay… Bye."

"Bye."

They don't say, "I love you." They haven't ever said it to each other. Not yet. He wonders how long it will take to get to that point.

_If you get to that point_, he thinks, because in his (very limited) experience with falling in love… it just sort of happens. Love isn't something to wait around for, hoping that it will develop. It's not like he remembers the moment he fell in love before. He just realized one day that he _was_ and that he had been for a long time.

It's only then that he realizes Pam is no longer looking at the now cold fries but at him.

_Oh god. What am I doing?_

It feels like it did with Katy all over again. He's ditching someone who actually _wants_ to be with him for something he can't have. Except this time it's Karen, who is so much more right than Katy ever was.

_But still not totally right_, Jim thinks.

_No_. He will _not_ do this again. He didn't change his entire life around, move out of state even, just to wind up in the exact same place a few months later.

"I should probably get going," he says apologetically.

"Oh!" It comes out as a quiet exclamation, but she quickly covers it up with a smile. "Okay. Yeah, it's getting late."

This is good. They can do the friends thing at work, like they did before, but not alone together in a bar. They can be friends again, but only if he leaves _now_, because it's getting harder and harder to look at her tonight and not say something stupid.

He gets up and starts to put on his coat when her hand on his wrist stills his movements. He looks at her questioningly.

"Don't," she says. She's looking not in his eyes, but at her hand on his wrist.

"Don't what?" he asks.

"I've missed this. A lot," she says, looking up at him when she says the last sentence.

He hates himself for not being able to lie to her.

"Me too," he tells her. His voice is suddenly hoarse, and he's not sure why.

"I just… I don't want this night to be over so soon. It's been a long time since we've talked like this."

Her hand his still on his wrist, and it's distracting him. A_lot_. He can feel her fingers slipping down to his hand, grazing his knuckles. She's not doing it on purpose, of course. Pam doesn't tease, not like this. But it has the same effect regardless of her motive. It's all he can do to keep his eyes from sliding shut.

"Um…" he mumbles, unable to form a coherent thought.

"We could go to my apartment."

_That_ snaps him out of his daze. What the hell is going on here? Is she _trying_ to kill him?

"I mean, you haven't seen it yet, right?" she adds hastily.

"Right," he says, his mind racing.

This is no big deal, right? This can't be what it might sound like. She and Karen are friends now. Girls don't steal their friends' boyfriends. Well, not unless they star on Laguna Beach, which Pam definitely doesn't.

"Yeah. Okay," Jim says carefully.

That makes perfect sense. It's not at all a bad idea to go to Pam's apartment at night, just the two of them. Nope.

"Yeah?" she replies, as though she's surprised he agreed, and probably also surprised that she offered in the first place.

She lets her hand fall completely away from his and grabs her own coat. He manages to get his feet to move, asking himself again what the_hell_ he just agreed to. On their way to the door they pass Dwight, who is still at the bar with what looks to be a Shirley Temple.

"Pam! Pam, have you reconsidered my offer?" Dwight calls urgently.

Pam opens her mouth to reply, but apparently Dwight has had more to drink than either of them realized because he somehow interprets her pause as a yes.

"Okay, good," he says obliviously. "Brace yourself against the bar, because sometimes the force of the scream can send you tumbling."

Pam holds up her hands to halt Dwight's approach.

"No, Dwight," she says firmly.

"You're right. We should go outside for this," Dwight replies thoughtfully.

Pam looks exasperated, but then she's smiling.

"Dwight, I'm going to pass on the scream therapy for now, but if I change my mind I'll call you," she says calmly.

Then she smirks and quickly tries to hide it.

"What's your cell number again? I'm not sure I have it," she adds.

Dwight looks suddenly agitated, and Jim has to fight not to laugh.

"Let me just give you my home number," Dwight recovers evasively.

"You know what, it's cool. I'll just email you if I require your services," Pam says agreeably.

"Okay. Excellent," Dwight says nervously.

"Mean," Jim accuses as soon as they're out of earshot.

"He wanted to scream in my _face_," Pam points out.

"To_help_ you, Pam," Jim counters.

Pam is unmoved by his justification.

They exit Poor Richard's and walk to his car, and the whole time he's second guessing himself.

Pam has always managed to seem so unaffected by him _that way_, the way she affects him. She befriended Karen, for God's sake. I mean, he could never have befriended Roy. But suggesting they go to her apartment has completely thrown him.

He's curious. He doesn't want to let himself believe that she's feeling the same things he is, because he let himself believe that last spring and it was the biggest mistake of his life.

But then he thinks,_ no, it was only a mistake because she lied._ He didn't _misinterpret_ anything last spring. She just wasn't able to be honest with him. Or herself.

He's suddenly angry, because she's doing it all over again. She'll get him thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts about what it means that they're going to her apartment alone, and then if he brings any of it up to her, she'll act like she has no idea what he's talking about.

Well, he won't let her do this again. She's going to be honest this time, because this isn't _before_. This is _now_.

His car is parked beneath one of the street lamps in the lot. The light hits her directly and he sees something sparkling below her neck. It's her gold necklace, the one she always wears, only the charm looks different. He's almost positive that it used to be a little dove, but now it's something else.

He's about to ask her about it, when he decides, _screw it_. She waits patiently by his passenger door for him to unlock it, but rather than doing so from inside the car, he walks around to her door.

He reaches out and delicately grasping the charm with the hand not holding his keys. His fingers brush against her skin and he hears her sharp intake of breath as her head jerks up so that she can meet his eyes questioningly.

He smiles.

"Wasn't this a dove?" he asks innocently.

She just stares at him for a moment, her mouth still halfway open.

"Uh, yeah," she says, shaking her head slightly, as if clearing her thoughts.

"A butterfly. Nice," he comments casually, turning the charm over in his hand.

She doesn't say anything, but continues to stare at him with the most bewildered expression on her face.

He unlocks her door and walks back around to his side of the car without a second glance at her. He already has his key in the ignition when she finally enters the car and buckles her seatbelt.

"I'll drive you back to your car, and then I can follow you to your place," he says conversationally.

"Yeah, great," she says, trying to adopt a similarly casual tone, but she's toying with the charm on her necklace again.

"I'm excited to see your apartment, Beesly. Besides, we need to try out that new sofa," he says, feeling reckless and excited.

She reacts exactly how he thought she would. Her eyes dart to his, startled by his phrasing, but then she quickly covers this by gluing her eyes on the road and smiling like nothing happened.

He doesn't even want to think about what he's doing, because it's not exactly going to win him Boyfriend of the Year, but he's been waiting for an opportunity to find out once and for all how she really feels about _them_ for about five years and here it is.

And he's going to take it.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

End Notes: Did you hear me burst into song when you reviewed last chapter? That's right! It was "I'm So Excited" by the Pointer Sisters, possibly the happiest song on earth (followed closely by Mmm Bop).

So, you know how clapping brings fairies back to life? Well reviewing does the same for wood nymphs. Don't let the fairies get all the attention! Wood nymphs are people too (sort of)!


End file.
